


Indigo Oracles

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: X/1999
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Subaru makes his choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indigo Oracles

~*~*~*~

  


Pain is like water. It pours out of heaven like rain; it washes things clean. It flows, ever-changing, to mix with a sea of other sorrows. It can be dark and deep. Powerful. It splatters against the window and runs in little rivers, and sometimes, it falls silently down hollowed cheeks, as tears.  


But pain, like water, takes its shape from the vessel in which it is contained.  


Subaru is _full_ of pain. Brimming over.  


Seishirou can sense it, even when Subaru is this far away.  


_But then, Subaru was always hurting, even before I killed Hokuto._  


The boy is less beautiful now, without that shroud of innocence tucked securely around him. Subaru is twenty-five, with dark circles under his eyes, purple like bruises; a pale, almost yellow color to his skin; and sad, empty eyes.  


Subaru’s coat is just a _tad_ too short—its sleeves don’t quite reach to Subaru’s slender wrists. His hair is just a _bit_ too long, little wisps falling into his eyes and over his ears. And his jacket, while flawlessly tidy, hangs awkwardly off his slight shoulders. But it’s clear that Subaru doesn’t care. He never did care for fashion; that was Hokuto, dressing him up like her doll.  


Frankly, Subaru isn’t _interesting_ enough to play with anymore. He’s almost completely hollow. Almost totally resolved—to fail. It’s no fun to play with one's prey if they are beyond fear.  


_It’s as if there’s nothing left to take away from him, nothing he holds dear. Nothing he wants to protect.  
_

Where is the challenge in that?  


Seishirou follows Subaru down the grimy Tokyo street. The young man’s boots squish as he walks through puddles, oblivious. Neon lights reflect in the shallow pools.  


Subaru goes into a phone booth, pulls out his phone card, and makes a call.  


Seishirou can hazard a guess who Subaru’s calling. It’s almost nine years to the day.  


It was his choice. He’s never flinched from taking all the responsibility. Things got broken. He’s the _Sakurazukamori_. It’s his _job_ to break things. It was _his_ choice.  


To make that bet. To go through the motions of being passionately in love. To step in front of that knife and give up an eye. It hurt, of course. But Seishirou didn’t feel the pain. Because Seishirou, unlike Subaru and all the other people that walk the earth, has no hollow places. He’s too full. Too independent. Too hard. There’s no room for pain. Or regret. Sorrow, remorse. Love. They cannot find room inside him.  


Subaru is empty and Seishirou hurts him, because he himself cannot be hurt. He cannot even get angry or disgusted anymore. The best he can do is allow boredom to wash over him.  


He was bored, even when he plunged his fist into Hokuto’s chest. She had always been a good friend to him, a sweet girl. Subaru worshipped the ground on which she walked. She was always smiling and singing and full of energy. And he felt her blood squirt over his face—felt it grow cold, seeping out of her and dripping down his arm. He felt her little body go limp and then totally lax as he held her, as he listened to her dying wish.  


And still, he felt nothing.  


Nothing except the _desire_ , the wish . . . to feel _something_.  


Seishirou runs the tip of his tongue over the back of his hand—he watches as Subaru twitches. The boy cradles his hands close to his chest, undoubtedly feeling the burn of the pentacle that Seishirou had emblazoned there.  


Their tie. Their bond. His mark. His prey.  


_Every predator has fear of its prey—else why bother to find a weakness in the first place?_  


Seishirou narrows his eyes and watches Subaru walk away. Subaru has many, many weaknesses. It’s difficult to pick one. But in the end, he knows, he _knows_ —the best way to wound Subaru is to attack those he cares for deeply. But at the moment, he has more pressing matters. Business before pleasure.  


Seishirou turns on his heel and seeks out Kamui.  


It is time to lay a trap.  


At least Kamui still has a spark of life—of hatred. The boy may not want to fight, he may push his loved ones far away, but in the end, he’s got just as much of an instinct to shield an innocent as the rest of the Seals. More so, perhaps.  


Seishirou casts a spell to create an illusion. His blood pounds in his veins like drums, like the deep, somber clang of monastery bells, as the _ki_ flows through him. Pillars of rock shoot up from the earth. The ground is made of water and darkness. The sky is pregnant with _sakura_ petals. The tree is hungry again; it wants blood.  


Perhaps he can oblige, but the time is not yet right. He must wait; things must be set in motion.  


He brings Kamui into his illusion, and the boy drags along an Indigo Oracle—the girl, Kotori. She’s far more delicate and timid than Hokuto, but there’s something similar there. A willingness. A selflessness. It unnerves him. Oracles are, as he has learned, unpredictable things. Just as with indigo paper, it takes sometimes ten or twenty years, to get them just right.  


So many women are making sacrifices these days—the dreaming princess, the Shadow Sacrifice, the sword bearers, sisters, mothers, lovers. Women fight wars in their own way.  


Seishirou has never much liked the idea of self-sacrifice. In fact, it’s repugnant to him.  


But this Oracle is plainly marked for death, so he’s not so concerned. How much can one small girl alter the grand events in motion?  


The fight is far from exhilarating, but he _is_ impressed by the boy’s power. This one is truly the Kamui.  


Seishirou smiles when Kamui’s _ki_ force slices open his cheek.  


It doesn’t hurt. He wants it to hurt, but it never does.  


Returning fire, he cuts Kamui’s arm and blasts the girl over the edge of their rock slab. Kamui leans over the side and holds onto her, his hand slick with his own blood. He won’t let go.  


_Now who does this remind me of?_  


“You’re so kind,” Seishirou murmurs, but in his illusion his voice fans out and crawls into every crevice, every crack. “But that is your weakness. If you try to save her, I will have the opportunity to kill you.”  


The tree wants to feed. The tree wants to kill, and having no real desire either way, Seishirou is willing to acquiesce. Whether Kamui dies here or at the End of Days hardly matters, for the end will be the same.  


He prepares his sphere of dark energy and launches it deftly—startled when Fuuma breaks through the illusion and covers Kamui, absorbing the blast of his _ki_ and, shockingly, reverses it.  


Seishirou barely has enough time to avoid the blow, stepping just out of reach.  


This plane shatters like a glass ball. Smiling, he allows the illusion of his own flesh to transform into _sakura_ petals, and he blows away on the wind, thinking, _At least now something will break the monotony._  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Subaru wakes up alone, half-naked. The cheap sheets scratch against his skin. His apartment is dark, but some light from the never-sleeping city illuminates his spartan surroundings.  


It’s raining. Listening to it hit the window is soothing. He grabs his pack of cigarettes, lights one up. Puts it to his lips and breathes in half-heartedly. Smoke tendrils drift skyward, getting in his eyes. He doesn’t blink. He’s perfected the art of _not_ reacting.  


For months after . . . that day under the cherry tree, when he lost Hokuto . . . Subaru was in a fugue state. He drew in on himself, trapped in a world of absolute nothingness. Just emptiness. Not even ash. Sometimes, he thought he could hear Hokuto-chan crying for him, but he’d never been able to find her.  


When he’d recovered, he held séance after séance, trying to locate her spirit. It was as if she’d completely disappeared somewhere. He was alone . . . Seishirou was gone, too.  


Subaru is always alone.  


On his answering machine are messages from clients, from his grandmother—urgent cases that need an _onmyouji_ to exorcise unwanted spirits.  


Subaru flicks his cigarette and gets up to look out the window. He is so _tired_. A cool breeze would be refreshing. Sometimes he longs for strong arms to wrap around him, to warm him, to hold him tight while he sleeps. He longs for hours and hours of deep rest.  


Instead, he prepares for a long train ride.  


The sun shines brightly as he journeys to his client’s house. It’s a rare, peaceful day. Once he gets off the train, he walks slowly through the old streets, ignoring the black cat that follows him. He knows perfectly well that it is _not_ a cat.  


He passes through the historical district, walking up several steep hills and through the grounds of an ancient temple. The statues of Buddha all sport bright red scarves—it reminds him of his dreams. Dreams of a long sword, swathed in deep red ribbon. Of maple leaves falling to the ground. Of the cinders of a cigarette, cutting a pentagram through the air.  


Subaru dislikes the color red. The color of blood.  


A butterfly flutters across his path. The harbinger. _So, he is near._  


Suddenly, there is the illusion of extra temple walls, boxing Subaru in. Large wagon wheels appear in the air, spinning, hurtling toward him. He easily dodges them and watches as they splinter on the walls and the ground.  


_Quite an elaborate game on my account._  


The sky is an angry red. For a moment, Subaru thinks back to all the sunsets he’d watched with Hokuto and Seishirou. Those were such happy times. But they were all a lie. _Is there any truth in happiness?_  


His white _o-fuda_ with the red star poised between two fingers, he runs a magical gauntlet, breaking through illusion after illusion. A bamboo forest. _Sakura_ petals hanging motionless in the sky. And finally, Seishirou stands before him, smiling, under that damned cherry tree.  


“Seishirou-san,” he whispers, happy that his voice did not waver. “I’ve been looking for you.” _Searching, every day, for seven years._  


Seishirou cocks his head. “Why?”  


Such a simple question. How can Subaru hope to answer that, if Seishirou does not already know?  


“To make my wish come true,” he says at last, sighing. He’s just so tired.  


So, they are both Dragons. Naturally. The head of the Sumeragi Clan and the _Sakurazukamori_ assassin are vessels of untold power. It's simply their fate, to play a part in the end of the world.  


But he couldn't care less. He shrugs. “I have no interest whatsoever in the future of Earth.”  


They are going to fight; he can sense the pressure in the air around them increase _just_ that much.  


Seishirou makes a pentagram with the fire from the tip of his cigarette. He uses it to shield himself from Subaru’s attack.  


Not that he needed to; Subaru didn’t put more than half his effort behind it.  


The older man smiles—he's devastatingly handsome when he pretends to be kind. “Is your wish to kill me? I, who murdered your beloved sister?”  


_Maybe all people who do bad things . . . are just really lonely._  


“You really are _cute_ , Subaru-kun.”  


Subaru remembers banging on the operating room doors, his heart a bruised and battered _thing_ , trying to claw its way right out of his chest. He remembers his fists painting the white walls with Seishirou’s blood.  


Subaru's _o-fuda_ break through Seishirou’s black ones, and the illusion of the bamboo forest fades. Subaru's face is placid. Reality is a threadbare perception, anyway. The scraps of prayer papers float down around them.  


“My wish is . . .” he whispers, but Seishirou’s spells come at him hot and hard, and he has to save his breath for chanting.  


Seishirou is stronger. Seishirou always was. But once again, Seishirou lets him go. Not the right time? Or is he _still_ not worthy?  


Subaru stands there, a thin trail of blood on his cheek, left by the loving stroke of Seishirou’s forefinger. His hands clench as he grits out the word, “Seishirou.”  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Seishirou goes back to his home and cleans his wounds perfunctorily. It’s been years since he worked at the Sakurazuka Veterinary Hospital, but the smell of antiseptic and the feel of white gauze on the pads of his fingers is familiar, comforting.  


He’d been wrong. Subaru was even more beautiful, now. He was a man. A young man, to be sure. But exquisite. In so much delicious pain. _What would it be like to feel so deeply?_  


Seishirou cannot tell who got the worse end of the deal—Subaru, who is fragile and mourns everything, or he, who feels nothing, not even joy at his own invincibility.  


Sighing, he puts on his slippers and fills his kettle with water from the tap. Rainy days are times made for tea. He waits for the water to boil and lights a single candle. The lone light will help him to focus.  


He’s always kept an eye, quite literally, on Subaru. The boy has always been a faint, constant resonance in the back of his mind—a pang, a ripple, down his spine. He can tap into Subaru whenever he wishes, if he invokes the pentacle he’d burned into the young man's hands. But then Subaru would feel it, would know he was being watched.  


Even now, Seishirou is paranoid, ever-careful. He does not wish to be seen unless everything is under his control. He prefers to watch from the tall grass. He stalks Subaru, when he can be bothered.  


The kettle whistles. He pours himself a cup and concentrates deeply, murmuring, “Om kakari bisan no maei bo sowaka ban yo.”  


And like _that_ , he is linked to Subaru. Subaru is in the middle of a very difficult bit of magic, and doesn’t register the pain in his hands or Seishirou’s presence. So he waits, and watches, psychically linked with the young Sumeragi.  


Subaru has gone deep into Kamui’s consciousness, in an effort to pull him out of his catatonic state. It is an impossible errand.  


Seishirou watches as Subaru sinks into deep, cold water. Then he falls onto hard earth and is pummeled by chaotic wind. Kamui’s mind is little more than a barren wasteland. He rejects Subaru time and again. Outside, on the physical plane, Subaru is touching his forehead to Kamui’s; they are sharing breath. After a while, Subaru’s body goes into convulsions and his ears and eyes start to bleed, but Subaru is not aware of that, and Seishirou can only sense it marginally.  


_Stubborn, Subaru. You never minded the risk to yourself, when someone else needed saving. You have no sense of self at all._  


Eventually, Subaru breaks through Kamui’s defenses. Inside his own mind, Kamui is a child, a lost, lonely child. His whole body cries out—no, that’s Subaru. _Subaru_ is feeling this pain, on Kamui’s behalf.  


Strange, to be able to experience emotions like this. Seishirou wonders how Subaru can go on, if everything inside him is this intense, this heightened. _How can he concentrate on anything?_  


Subaru cups young Kamui’s face. They are talking about something—Seishirou guesses that Subaru is doing his best to give the boy a pep-talk, which is just irony at its best.  


Eventually the voices become clearer, ringing in his head like the tap of a fork against a wineglass to announce a toast.  


“Seishirou was especially important to me,” Subaru says matter-of-factly. “Though it will make those that care for me sad, I cannot change my wish.”  


_What wish? What is his wish, if not to kill me?_  


Kamui nods. “Because it was the person dearest to you that betrayed you.”  


Seishirou has stopped paying attention to the words. The words are inconsequential and painfully obvious anyway. But the _emotions_ , the underlying dreams . . . Those interest him.  


Subaru loves this boy, in a way. He wants to protect Kamui, beyond just the normal duty of being a Dragon of Heaven. Subaru _cares_ for Kamui and wants to save him from his fate. Seishirou can use that against him.  


If there had been just a little more time, Seishirou feels certain he could have ferreted out Subaru’s wish; however, Kamui decides to come out of his self-imposed hell. Subaru collapses on top of the boy—Seishirou struggles to keep the spell going, to watch as Kamui’s arms carefully enfold an unconscious Subaru.  


So . . . he can use Subaru against Kamui, too.  


Although, something about that makes him uncomfortable. Something about the way Kamui cradles Subaru close, strokes his black hair.  


Seishirou’s stomach tightens; it feels like he’s swallowed a hot brick and it’s slowly sinking down deep inside him. He wants to vomit. He’s . . . so angry.  


Why? Why, suddenly, when nothing else has upset him in _years_?  


He blinks, and the scrying spell dissipates.  


_Is this jealousy?_ he wonders.  


He looks down at his cup. His tea has gone cold.  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Subaru sits on a park bench, looking up at the night sky. Back home, he’d be able to make out a few stars, but in Tokyo that’s just not possible. So much pollution . . . so many people. The earth must be tired. He briefly wonders if Seishirou is on the right side, but his heart tells him otherwise.  


His heart tells him to have faith in people. To believe in the best of all possible worlds. To trust. To keep giving others the opportunity to hurt, or to heal.  


He smiles. At times, he feels like Hokuto-chan is so _near_.  


But the only presence he can sense is Kamui’s. Ever since going into the boy’s mind, he’s been linked, in a way, to Kamui. It is not a keen sensation; rather, it is like a dull knife that can’t quite cut, but still leaves an impression.  


Subaru cannot empathize Kamui's emotions nor see through his eyes, but he vaguely knows where Kamui is, and can tell if Kamui needs protection.  


_It is good to have at least one tie to the world._  


But he does have another, a tiny voice tells him.  


“Seishirou-san,” he whispers.  


_To think only of the one you love . . . that’s something that can only be done by someone with an ailing heart._  


Subaru’s heart has been torn into so many small pieces, he can’t find it anymore. And yet, upon seeing Seishirou, there was fresh, delicious pain.  


But Seishirou still wouldn’t kill him. He wasn’t important enough. Wasn’t strong enough yet, to be a bother. He’s a failure, even now.  


Closing his eyes, Subaru reaches for his pack of cigarettes. Then he feels it—a sharp tug in his chest. Kamui. Needs him. Not too far away.  


Subaru sets out at a dead run, ignoring the flock of black crows that scatters as he makes his way across the park. Subaru soars over the tops of trees, up the sides of buildings, everything in him focused with pin-point intensity on Kamui.  


He reaches the roof of Sunshine 60 and puts up a barrier, just in time to stop Fuuma from killing the boy. He fights briefly with the one called Nataku—Subaru can’t get a read on him, as if he has no spiritual signature at all—regardless, Nataku is no match for him. Fuuma sees this and attacks Subaru, forcing him to split his attention.  


Nataku spins a web of white ribbon to hold Kamui prisoner, while Fuuma hurls balls of compressed spiritual energy at Subaru; Subaru runs around in circles, setting up _o-fuda_ in strategic places. He’s no match for Fuuma’s strength and he knows it, but this way . . .  


Fuuma laughs. “I see. You’ve been laying a trap for me.” He smiles.  


In that split-second, Subaru freezes. It’s not Fuuma standing before him, but Seishirou. His mind reels. Which is the illusion? It’s Seishirou’s face, but not Seishirou’s spiritual signature. He’d _know_ if it was Seishirou, wouldn’t he? The older man couldn’t hide the very deepest parts of himself, could he?  


His hesitation costs him dearly—Fuuma’s _ki_ explodes into his chest. He bounces over the concrete roof like a stone skipping on water, scraping to a halt. He’s bleeding, and it’s extremely difficult to breathe. He might have broken a few ribs.  


Suddenly, Fuuma kicks him in the gut, then grinds his boot heel on the middle of Subaru’s spine, pressing his belly and face against the hard ground.  


He groans, unable to move. He can taste his own blood.  


Fuuma’s boot is under his chin, lifting his face up. Those eyes . . . those cold, empty, laughing eyes.  


“Sei . . . shi . . . rou . . .” _Not like this._  


Fuuma grabs Subaru’s hair and yanks him up to his knees.  


Tears form. “Why do you look like Seishirou?”  


Fuuma cocks his head. “Isn’t that what you want?”  


_What I want . . . What I want . . ._  


“To see Seishirou again? Isn’t that your wish?”  


Subaru watches, eyes wide, as Fuuma lifts his arm back, palm flat, fingers extended, the elbow bent and lifting higher, higher. He sees with perfectly clarity as those fingertips rush at him. “I will fulfill your wish.”  


And then, there’s the horror and shock—Fuuma’s two fingers gouge his right eye deep into its socket.  


The pain is indescribable.  


Some part of him is happy.  


He wants to tell Kamui not to bother, as the boy’s power explodes, freeing him of his bonds and blasting the Dragons of Earth back, to make a hasty retreat. He wants to tell Kamui not to bother shedding a single tear, when the boy cradles him close and screams his name, apologizing over and over again.  


_Everything happens in cycles. I’m on the other side of the circle now. Poor Kamui—he can’t escape it either._  


Subaru lies there, limp, exhausted, the blood and tissue oozing out of his right eye. He can feel a warm prickling on the backs of his hands—Seishirou’s pentacle.  


“Kamui. This was . . . my wish.” He smiles, just before he passes out.  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Seishirou stands on a spire, smoking, staring as Kamui and the other Dragons of Heaven flock to Subaru. He is most displeased. Downright furious, and amazed that it’s even possible for him to _be_ furious.  


The Kamui of Earth has marked that which was _his_ and his alone to mark. He is a territorial, dangerous, and unscrupulous man by nature. But this makes him absolutely reckless with rage.  


_My previous patience seems in vain. How foolish._  


He plasters on a cheerful smile when Fuuma floats over to him. They stand there, atop the skeletal structure of a construction site. Subaru had been able to cast a barrier just before the battle began, but when he was wounded, the spiritual energy dissolved, and the surrounding buildings and inhabitants are currently suffering for it.  


The rain falls, but it will never wash all that blood away.  


“You saw it all,” Fuuma says. “Our every move. Didn’t you?”  


Seishirou removes his glasses so that Fuuma can get a good look at his glass eye. “I figured you noticed me watching at Ikebukuro.” _Because he is mine to watch, not yours._  


Fuuma’s answering smile is equally cheerful and false. “I get the feeling you know that Dragon of Heaven well.”  


Seishirou taps his cigarette pack. “Long ago we made a silly little bet.” He holds out the pack to Fuuma. “Suppose I shouldn’t offer to a minor.” _You’re still just a child. I’ve been at this much longer than you. You’re half my age. Remember that._  


“Why not?” Fuuma asks contemptuously. But he quickly smiles again. “It’s not like you give a damn. You don’t care what happens to me, so why pretend?”  


On the contrary, Fuuma has touched that which belongs to him. Seishirou would like to feed him to the tree very, very slowly, for that.  


He lights himself another cigarette and Fuuma smirks, resting his back and one bent leg up against the wall. So casual. So superior. Seishirou knows this game.  


Well, the child can see through his mask—congratulations. But more than that, this Kamui has a special gift . . . Seishirou can’t quite figure out what it is, but it’s old, and it’s slightly more powerful than him, and that makes him wary.  


He watches as the boy’s mouth stretches in a thin smile. “That Dragon of Heaven _wanted_ to lose his eye. To be just like _you_ . . . But deeper still in his heart lies his _true_ desire.” Fuuma stands close to him now—close enough for it to be a challenge, of sorts. “And _you_ are the only one who can give him _that_.”  


The boy swipes the cigarette right out of Seishirou’s mouth, crushing the lit end in his palm. Seishirou cannot hide his surprise.  


“Not that you have a _clue_ what his true desire is—it’s not what you’re thinking!”  


Seishirou can think of nothing to say. The _look_ Fuuma throws him—it could almost be called sympathetic, before that expression morphs into derision. The boy jumps off the building, leaving Seishirou to stand there in the rain.  


He looks out at the gray bundle of clouds; the wind sweeps his coat back, runs over his damp clothes. Chilling. He lights another cigarette.  


_Subaru’s wish? What can I do for him, besides die . . . ? There are only two things Subaru can desire of me. Sex and death. If he doesn’t want my death . . . then . . . ?_  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Subaru floats, naked, in warm water. Overhead, the stars whiz through an indigo sky, as if he’s watching time-lapse photography, and he can see eons pass in the blink of an eye.  


_Everything seems so insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. What does it matter if the earth crumbles into dust? The universe is so very vast, and we are so small . . . What does it matter if all the people die? If Kamui’s heart breaks, like mine did?  
_

Does any of it hold even the slightest meaning?  


“It must,” a deep voice murmurs, “else, why would life persevere?”  


Subaru tilts his head up—peers at the tall figure hovering at the edge of his vision. “Seishirou-san.”  


Seishirou is waist-deep in the water, wading slowly to him. “Subaru-kun.”  


“Am I dead?”  


Seishirou cocks his head. “Does that matter?”  


_No, so long as I can be with you._  


Seishirou nods. “I see. So that’s it.”  


Subaru wants to stand up in the water, but he can’t move. Seishirou reaches for him and cradles him close. “You’ve been horribly wounded. Scarred.”  


Subaru can think of nothing to say, so he just rests his head against Seishirou’s chest and sighs. It feels good to be held like this—to finally have this man’s touch. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. He feels languid, warm, sluggish. As if, underneath his skin, his very _self_ is stretching out toward the stars.  


Seishirou tangles his fingers in Subaru’s hair, gently tilting his head back. He doesn’t move as the older man bends down, deliberates for a moment, and then kisses him.  


He neither resists nor leans into it. Subaru is shocked into passivity.  


When Seishirou breaks for air, he smiles in that sweet, handsome way of his. “Is this what you wanted?”  


And Subaru frowns. Because it _is_ , and yet, it _isn’t_. He cannot trust this.  


“But you can. Here, you can,” Seishirou insists.  


Subaru blinks as Seishirou leans down to kiss him again. The older man brushes his fingers tenderly against Subaru’s jaw and works his mouth open—delving inside, tasting him. Subaru begins to stir, to feel want.  


His arms come up and encircle Seishirou’s broad shoulders. The kiss goes on and on and finally Subaru pulls back, panting. Seishirou smiles so kindly at him.  


“This isn’t real,” Subaru says with certainty.  


“No. It is one of my illusions. It is far better than the reality, trust me.”  


Subaru shakes his head. “No. I meant . . . You. You are not yourself.”  


Seishirou frowns. “Who else would I be?”  


Subaru pushes him away and falls back into the water for a moment, struggling to make his tired body obey. A beat. Another. Seishirou saves him, lifting him up so he can breathe again. Subaru coughs and shivers. “You don’t have to pretend to be nice and gentle and loving. I know you’re not.”  


The older man stares at him for a long time. “Do you want me to be cold and cruel? Are you seeking some sort of punishment from me?”  


Subaru smiles softly. “I just want you to be you. Whatever that ends up being, it will be enough.”  


Seishirou looks confused, and more than a little wary. Subaru suspects no one has ever told him that.  


“As you wish,” Seishirou whispers.  


_As I wish . . ._  


The warm water transforms into soft ground, littered with snow-white _sakura_ petals, four, five inches deep. It’s a bed of splendor, sweet-scented, and so alive. Subaru nods. _Appropriate._  


Seishirou hovers over him, intensely scrutinizing every inch of Subaru. He is not ashamed. He makes no move to hide his nakedness. He’s not sure if everything here comes out of Seishirou’s imagination, or his own, but either way, he’s done hiding. The truth must come above all things, he’s long since learned.  


“You’ve grown up since I’ve been gone,” Seishirou says, petting his hair off his forehead. “You’re almost a man.”  


Shrugging, Subaru says, “It was bound to happen one day.”  


Seishirou shakes his head. “I did my best to prevent it, but the universe does not bow to my every whim.”  


Subaru considers this. “Everything that’s happened has happened because you’ve wanted it to.” He slides his palm down Seishirou’s cheek, emboldened by the fact that this is all a dream. “It’s not fair.”  


Seishirou kisses him possessively. “Life is never fair, Subaru-kun.”  


“This is a dream.” He clutches at Seishirou’s shoulders as the older man plants kisses along his jaw-line.  


“Yes. I’m giving you your wish.”  


Subaru says nothing, allowing Seishirou to part his legs. The older man settles his weight as his suit fades away, and suddenly it’s warm skin brushing over pale, warm skin.  


Subaru says nothing; he simply stares up at the stars through the branches of a massive cherry tree. He moans when Seishirou licks a hot trail down his belly, and gasps and shakes when the older man mouths his hardness. Just before Subaru can find release, Seishirou stops and goes further, pushing his thighs up to his chest and then parting him, laving at him, getting him wet.  


Seishirou is still being deceptively gentle, and it bothers Subaru, even as he rakes the ground, clumps of dirt up under his fingernails, the petals brushing against his skin; he's so hot and wanton.  


With a chuckle, the _Sakurazukamori_ looks up and says, “Have it your way, then.”  


He takes Subaru roughly up against the tree, rutting between his legs. The cherry bark scratches deep cuts into Subaru’s back—he’s bleeding inside and out—but it doesn’t matter, because Seishirou, the _real_ Seishirou, wants him, needs him, is pounding inside of him, using his body, melding into him, twining around him, stroking deeply every time.  


It’s like coming home after a long, wearisome voyage. This strange new feeling of fullness must be Seishirou’s influence, because Subaru has never given his body to another, and he’s never known such completion, either.  


He pants and cups the back of Seishirou’s head, his fingers threading through Seishirou’s sweaty hair. They stare at each other. Seishirou is animalistic, but still in control—that is constantly evident in every look, every gesture. Seishirou is doing this _to_ Subaru, and Subaru is allowing it to be done.  


_The person dearest to me . . . is inside of me . . ._  


“Yes,” Seishirou grunts, thrusting faster. “Yes . . .”  


Neither can last long. Subaru comes with a little cry, coating Seishirou’s taut chest and abdomen. Seishirou follows in a scatter of seconds, thrusting one last time, deep inside.  


They sink to the ground, Subaru clutching Seishirou close, and Seishirou, exhausted, resting his forehead on Subaru’s sweat-glistened shoulder. The _Sakurazukamori_ bites down, hard, sucking and licking his salty skin, and then growls, “Mine.”  


Subaru brushes the older man’s hair back. _You’ve always known that._  


“And now you do, too.” Seishirou kisses Subaru’s left eyelid.  


It _hurts_. It hurts like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Why? Why does it hurt to be kissed there?  


The cherry petals are turning pink. The pink is spreading out around them, far as the eye can see. The petals begin to melt, merge, form into water. Warm, warm water, again.  


But the water is red.  


“Did you get what you wanted, Subaru-kun?” Seishirou asks so softly, as though Subaru might break if he raises his voice.  


“What’s happening?”  


“You’re waking up.”  


_No! Stay with me! Don’t . . . not just yet. Hold me?_  


Seishirou kisses Subaru’s chin. “You really are . . . a sweet boy.”  


The water isn’t water—it’s thicker. Thick like blood. Subaru is floating in a pool of Hokuto’s blood—he can sense it. Overhead, the stars have stopped. The indigo has faded into a relentless black.  


“Did you get your wish?” Seishirou asks again, just as Subaru begins to feel the tugging of consciousness.  


“No, I didn’t.”  


Seishirou frowns and reaches out for him, clutching his hand. “What do you me—”  


Subaru wakes to the stark white of his hospital room.  


Kamui is there, holding his hand.  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


The next time Seishirou sees Subaru, they are walking toward one another on the Rainbow Bridge. There’s no traffic—there wouldn’t be, these days. Tokyo is all but in ruins.  


It’s dark, but he’s still wearing his sunglasses. Not to make a statement; he doesn’t need to _pretend_ to be a bad ass. He got used to wearing them because the sight of his silver eye makes people nervous—and it seems especially in poor taste, given that Subaru arrives with a swath of bandages patched over his right eye.  


It’s _got_ to still hurt. It hurt for a long time after, when it had happened to _him_. Not that he’d ever shown the slightest indication. Subaru doesn’t either, and for that, Seishirou allows himself to feel a small swell of pride.  


He remembers coming inside of Subaru, and his stomach tightens with sudden desire. He wants the young man again.  


He pulls out a cigarette and Subaru is quick to light it. The gesture speaks volumes of intimacy. “Thank you,” he says softly. He puffs smoke into the air as Subaru puts his lighter away. “We finally meet again. You haven’t changed a bit.” _Except that you’ve lost both your eye and your virginity._ “Still as adorable as always.”  


Lightning flashes. Subaru spreads out a fan of _o-fuda_ ; they soar at him. He uses his cigarette to raise a pentacle shield, and the prayers smash against them, bloody doves that fall to the ground and disintegrate.  


_Why does he insist on lighting my cigarette, if he knows I will use the flame as a defense?_  


Subaru puts up a barrier—for a moment they are enveloped in green light.  


The next several moments are _felt_ rather than seen—there are explosions, licks of electrical fire flashing out like whips, and a great, ceaseless wind. They jump toward each other and meet, the force of their _ki_ clashes like a bomb exploding. It shakes the earth down to its core.  


_Magnets do not understand their attraction to each other, but neither can they resist it._  


They stop, staring at each other. Subaru is so solemn. So collected. Subaru has a tenuous grip on his self-control.  


It is Seishirou who has changed. While Subaru seems to have finally woken up—has decided what he wants and is committed to what he must do—Seishirou finds himself slipping, just a bit. Seishirou _felt_ something inside that dream-illusion. Inside Subaru . . .  


He doesn’t like to be so unbalanced. It’s time to fight dirty.  


He casts a spell and brings up the illusion of _sakura_ petals. Faintly, there’s the sound of wind chimes. Subaru freezes, blinking rapidly.  


The tree takes over. _Sakura_ roots shoot out of the ground and snake around Subaru’s limbs, lifting him up high, cutting into his flesh.  


Seishirou watches, alert and attentive, as Subaru cuts his thumb on a white _o-fuda_ and feeds the tree, breaking the illusion without uttering a single chant. The young man drops to the ground with natural grace.  


“You don’t have to use spells this way,” he says softly, poised. “I’ve been trapped by the cherry tree since that day.”  


Seishirou isn’t immediately certain of which day Subaru refers. The young man’s bandages fly apart in the wind. He looks . . . like he’s made of crystal that cannot be broken, only cracked.  


“The Dragon of Earth’s Kamui told me that I am the only one who can grant you your true wish,” Seishirou says. “But that it was different from what I’ve been thinking. Isn’t your wish to kill me?”  


Subaru looks at him like he’s missing the point entirely. It doesn’t just irk his intellectual pride—he’s become obsessed with the notion that he’s missing something critical and it completely unravels him.  


Finally Subaru says, “It is not.”  


They fly at each other, Seishirou can tell that this time, he's maneuvered them both to the point of no return. At the last moment, almost on a whim, he changes direction and aims for the heart.  


Lightning strikes.  


Subaru’s barrier dissolves.  


Seishirou can’t breathe and he doesn’t bother trying. Subaru’s trembling hand has pierced his chest. His heart beats furiously against the curve of the young man’s forearm. 

He grips the lapel of Subaru’s trench coat and blinks, letting the sensations of his dying body wash over him without a sound. _I’m going to die. Just as you said, Mother. But this is my choice._  


Subaru pulls his hand out and catches Seishirou, not letting him tumble fully to the hard asphalt.  


“Wh-what happened?”  


He smiles up at Subaru. The young man is scared. So scared. _But truth over comfort._ “Your sister’s last spell. She used her life to cast it.”  


He can remember it vividly, as if looking into a mirror . . .  


_“I know it’s arrogant of me,” Hokuto rasps, “but I want you and Subaru to live.”  
_

“Why me as well?” Seishirou asks. “I hurt Subaru, and I’m killing you.”  


Her smile is brittle. “That’s true. But I don’t want you to die, after all. No matter how bad you are . . . even if you are nothing more than a killer . . . in the end, I’m rather fond of you.” She is fading; he can feel it. “Subaru is the only one who can kill you. And you’re the only one who can kill Subaru. So with the last of my powers, I’m going to cast a spell.”  


He lifts an eyebrow. Firstly, he cannot believe that Subaru is the only one that can kill him, and secondly, he cannot imagine how she has enough power left to even chant, let alone cast a full-power spell.  


“If you try to kill Subaru in the same way that you killed me, that attack will bounce right back at you,” she says sweetly.  


He frowns. “Why are you telling me about this?”  


“Otherwise, it’s meaningless. I trust you . . . trust that this spell will never be invoked.”  


“I am not someone you can trust,” he feels compelled to say, though why, he’s uncertain. Perhaps because he is rather fond of her too, in his way.  


“I know. But . . . I believe in you. Don’t forget,” she whispers, cupping his face. “There are sins for which you can never repent . . . but no one is ever forbidden to love.”  


Something about her, lying like this, bleeding out over him . . . naturally, it puts him in mind of his mother.  


Mother . . .  


The only woman he has ever given his body to, the only woman he has ever loved. She was so happy, the day he killed her.  


Her hands were bloody from feeding the _sakura_ tree; he worried that she’d been hurt. She was the only one for whom he’d ever bothered to feel concerned. But she knew. She knew he had come to kill her.  


She knew before he did. And she was happy. Standing there in her bloody kimono, peppered with the stains of her last prey, strong and ethereal, ecstatic to see him take her place.  


He remembers it so clearly . . .  


_“There can be no greater joy, Seishirou, than to be killed by the one you love,” she tells him, placing her delicate hand in his.  
_

“Do you love me?” he asks.  


“I do. More than I can say.”  


“I love you too, Mother,” he whispers, their faces less than an inch apart.  


“But I am not the one you love the most,” she whispers back, before kissing the corner of his mouth.  


 _Sakura_ petals fall, blending in with snowflakes. It is cold. So cold.  


He holds her close and murmurs into her ear, “As you wish.”  


Her eyes close and she wears a peaceful expression as he plunges his fist through her chest. He is precise, deadly, instinctively accurate. Of course. She was his mother. He does not enjoy her pain.  


“Now you will be . . . the _Sakurazukamori_ . . . until the day someone comes to kill you.”  


He pets strands of her long, black hair. “And who will that be? Do you know?”  


She looks so young, barely more than a child, now. “The one . . . whom you will love the most.”  


He kisses her bloody hand. “But I’ll never grow to love anyone. You know that. You gave birth to me; you should know me better than anyone.”  


She smiles, suddenly deathly white. The blood pools in the snow around them, feeding the ever-hungry tree. “Yes, my son . . . When I was young . . . I thought that too. But then I saw you for the first time.”  


He watches her die. He bends low and kisses her stained lips, a deep kiss, the kind lovers give, when parting for the last time. “Goodbye, beloved one.”  


He knew she would never lie to him, but he hadn’t really believed her. And then the day came when he met Subaru.  


He didn’t want to admit it then; he didn’t know what love was. He should have been more watchful. He should have recognized the warning signs . . .  


Meeting Subaru is Seishirou's strongest memory . . .  


_“The cherry blossoms are so beautiful this time of year,” young Subaru says, his voice soft and full of enthusiasm.  
_

He had killed moments before, and this boy—a child of immense spiritual power, he can sense it—happened upon him just as he'd finished. “Do you like cherry blossoms?”  


“Yes.” The child has an adorable face.  


Seishirou smiles. “But don’t you know? Underneath each cherry tree . . . a corpse is buried!”  


Shock and disbelief. “A c-corpse?”  


“Why do you think cherry trees bloom so beautifully each year? They feed on the corpse. You see, the flowers on the tree used to be white. Pure white. Like snow.” Like the snowflakes that fell that day. Like his mother’s pale skin. Like the cloth of this boy’s robe. Like death. “So, why do you think cherry blossoms turn a pale crimson shade?” He smiles more sharply. “It’s because they drink the blood from the corpse underneath the tree.”  


All things beautiful are deadly, and ugly, somewhere on the inside.  


This beautiful boy starts to cry. Big tears well up in his bright eyes. “But doesn’t that hurt the person under the tree?” the boy asks, wringing his little hands.  


Seishirou marvels; he’s looking at a pure soul. His mouth goes slack. He feels feverish. If he could love anyone at all, it would be this boy.  


“Look, I’ll cut a deal with you. If we ever meet again . . .” The wind howls, but he keeps on talking. “I will make you fall in love with me and I will break you from the inside. I will give you one year to make me love you back, and if at the end of that year, you don’t teach me what love is, I will kill you and feed you to this tree . . .” The wind dies down. “But today,” he cups the boy’s face, “I will let you go.”  


He sends the boy into a deep, deep sleep, and leaves him there, under the branches.  


Of all his memories, Subaru spread beneath his cherry tree is the sharpest. The most treasured. When he dies, that memory will die with him. And for the first time in his life, the Sakurazukamori knows regret.  


_There is only ever one future.  
_

The future is not yet decided.  


People who do bad things are just really lonely.  


No one is ever forbidden to love.  


There can be no greater joy, than to be killed by the one you love.  


Seishirou falls to his knees.  


Subaru sobs, clinging to him. He can feel the young man’s warmth all around him. And he, at long last, desires _something_. He wants . . . to make Subaru happy.  


“I tried to kill you, inside my heart,” the young man confesses. “To erase your existence there. But I couldn’t do it. Even if I meant no more than a grain of sand to you. Even if you felt no more for me than a twig you’d snap under foot . . .” He cries, weeping bitterly into the crook between Seishirou’s neck and shoulder. “I thought . . . I wanted to be killed by you. So that my heart would at least be free.”  


_Oh, Subaru, no . . ._ Seishirou buries his face in Subaru’s chest. _No._  


“Even if you forgot that you killed me soon afterward. Even if I was just one of the _sakura_ ’s many victims . . . At least by _your_ hands . . . At least in my final moment, I’d be able to rest . . . with _you_.”  


He understood. Subaru loved him, as his mother had loved him. Purely, without selfishness, in total submission and acceptance of what he must be. He wanted to _scream_ , but he couldn’t breathe.  


“If you knew of Hokuto’s spell,” Subaru choked out, “why . . . ?!”  


_There is no greater joy, than to be killed by the one you love._  


“Why didn’t I see it before?” Seishirou smiles. “Thinking about it, you could never commit to killing anyone. Your heart couldn’t bear it.” _I’ve never wanted anything, until now. You’re going to hate yourself, aren’t you, Subaru-kun? My Subaru._ “You’re truly . . . truly a kind person,” he rasps out. “Subaru . . .” Leaning up, he inches his mouth close, brushes their cheeks together, and whispers, “Subaru, I hope you know how much I . . .”  


It’s liberating in ways he couldn’t have imagined. He’s dying, and the last thing he feels . . . is joy. _This is my choice._  


Subaru holds him close, trembling. “You never say the words I expect to hear. Never once.”  


_I’d hate to be predictable,_ he thinks, _beloved one._  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Subaru can feel the instant Seishirou is truly dead. His muscular body goes slack. Blood and piss run out of him. His eyes roll back in his head. Everything is limp and stringy. It is not romantic. It is not beautiful. It is a corpse, a shell of the man he loved.  


Whining the way a dog does after it’s been hit by a car, Subaru cups Seishirou’s face. Hot tears fall onto the wan skin. He plants little kisses along that slack, angular jaw; snot drips down his face. His good eye is puffy and his damaged eye _throbs_ in agony. He buries his face against Seishirou’s neck and _howls_ out his grief.  


The Rainbow Bridge falls. Subaru will never be able to erect a barrier again.  


Later, he sits in his chair, courting the edge of madness, the coat stained with Seishirou’s blood still wrapped around him. Kamui hovers close by, worried.  


He should be. Subaru is very, very close to going completely insane. A _hair’s_ breadth away from drowning in an infinite, indigo sky.  


_There is only ever one future._  


“You wanted to be at his side,” Kamui says, resting his head on Subaru’s thigh. “To be killed by him. Like I want to be killed by Fuuma.”  


_We are the same sides of different coins, Kamui. Fuuma is to you what Seishirou was to me. How many times has this farce unfolded, since time began? Patterns. Patterns, patterns, patterns, turning, turning._  


Subaru speaks in a monotone, “In the past, he almost killed me. But he didn’t. Since then, I think he always knew my whereabouts.” He shows the boy the pentacle scars on his hands. They no longer burn or throb. “This is the sign that I was the _Sakurazukamori_ ’s prey . . . Why didn’t he come kill me?” Subaru asks. “I thought it was because I wasn’t _worth_ killing. So I wanted to become stronger, so that he’d at least think of me as a nuisance. I wanted to vex him. But that was the wrong assumption.”  


_He didn’t kill me because . . . I wasn’t worthy . . . or because . . . he loved me?_  


“Is what people say before they die true?” Subaru asks the darkness. “Or is it all lies? I don’t know anymore. There’s no way for me to ask.” _He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. They’re gone. I’m alone._  


Kamui takes up his scarred hand. “Subaru.”  


“Kamui . . . don’t worry about me. All you need to think about is how to make your own wish come true.”  


“What if my wish . . . makes someone else unhappy?” Kamui asks.  


Subaru cups his cheek. “Ah, Kamui. There is no single path that will make us all happy. Now go to bed; your eyes look bloodshot.”  


The boy leaves him. He gets up and goes to the window, cracking the shudders apart so that the angry wind can blow in. It’s cool and refreshing. Chilling. He kisses the pentacle on his hand. _One of the Seven Angels has died. But so has one of the Seven Seals. I miss you. I’ve always missed you._  


He dreams a dream with Kakyou, one in which black feathers land in dark water, little rings rippling out to become forces strong enough to shake the foundations of the world.  


When he wakes, he goes to the Sakurazuka household, now empty, and stands under the cherry tree there, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky. He remembers the feel of cherry bark against his back. He remembers the way Seishirou’s mouth _tasted_.  


And a familiar, dark _ki_ floods the backyard, blotting out the warmth of the sunlight on his back. “Let me be,” he says, his eyes closed. “What business can you still have with me?”  


He turns to face Fuuma. “I don’t care about Earth or its fate. Not anymore. I don’t even care if I live or die.”  


Fuuma nods. “I can see that.” Dressed in a black trench coat with sunglasses, his air superior and his manner convivial, he reminds Subaru _so_ much of Seishirou. He knows instinctively that Kamui is doomed.  


“Then what are you doing here?” he demands.  


“To see what blooms here, out of season. Cherry blossoms, camellia blossoms . . . but then, this _is_ the _Sakurazukamori_ ’s house . . .” Fuuma pins him with a glacial stare. “You wanted to be killed by the _Sakurazukamori_. It’s such a _shame_ when wishes don’t come true.”  


Subaru sighs. In a way, his wish has come to pass. He is already dead, on the inside. Where it counts. Where Seishirou once was, if only in a dream.  


“And yet,” Fuuma says, “you might be able to fulfill the _Sakurazukamori_ ’s last wish.”  


Subaru startles. “Did he tell you what he wished for?”  


“No need to speak of such things. I can tell what the heart desires.” He points to Subaru’s right eye. “As you wished, you lost your right eye. But it appears the _Sakurazukamori_ didn’t appreciate my handiwork. He didn’t like that there was a scar on your body, left by another man. The _Sakurazukamori_ ’s last wish was to _erase_ that scar.”  


Fuuma hands over a spiritual vessel containing Seishirou’s last remains—his left eye. Subaru accepts it as if he were participating in an extremely important religious rite.  


“Were I in his place, I might do the same thing,” Fuuma murmurs.  


“With Kamui?” Subaru asks.  


“Yes.”  


_There won’t be anything of Kamui left,_ Subaru thinks.  


“Will you take it, or throw it away?” Fuuma challenges. “There can be no turning back. If you do this, the powers of the _Sakurazukamori_ will be _yours_.”  


Subaru swallows.  


_If I cannot be with the one I love, I can at least become the one I love. And no matter how much I sin, I will still be able to love him. Is this what you hoped for me, Hokuto-chan, when you said you wanted Seishirou and I to live? Did you see us becoming one, my sister, my Oracle? Is this my destiny?_  


Subaru cradles the vessel close to his chest. It looks like he cannot rest just yet.  


  


~*~*~*~

  


  


Epilogue

  


Events unfold rapidly the moment Subaru makes his choice.  


Hinoto-hime’s fragile, transparent self gives way to the strong, passionate, negative image, an alter-ego, and plans are set in motion just long enough to break the spines of the Dragons of Heaven.  


Yuzuriha loses Inuki and finds him again, only to discover Kusanagi’s true identity.  


Arashi becomes a Dragon of Earth in a misguided attempt to prevent Sorata’s death. Fuuma attempts to kill Arashi for her reluctance to kill Kamui, but in the end, as was predicted by the old stargazer, Sorata shields her. As he is dying, he lets loose all his _ki_ , the explosion of which rips half of Fuuma’s face off.  


The stars fall.  


Nataku dies for love, and Fuuma uses his flesh to regenerate.  


Kakyou shows Kamui his future in a dream. All the Dragons have visions of swords, born of a woman’s body, and blood—of feathers and petals and death.  


The final battle arrives, and all but one barrier is broken.  


Fuuma and Kamui duel; the setting sun reflects off of everything, lukewarm and somber.  


As Subaru rushes to protect Kamui out of instinct, he hears Hokuto-chan’s voice in his head. _Sei-chan and I are not in your world. But we’re both in your heart._  


In that moment, he realizes why all those séance sessions never let him find his sister. It was because . . . he’d carried her inside of him, all this time. All the pain, the loneliness, the torture . . . she bore it with him. He had never been alone. He isn't alone now.  


She and Seishirou still exist . . . in his memory.  


Subaru watches helplessly as Fuuma shatters Kamui’s sword—for a sword of the Dragon of Heaven can never survive a blow to the very person it had vowed to protect. Instead, Fuuma impales Kamui on his own blade.  


Subaru feels it keenly, as if it were happening to himself.  


Tokyo begins to fall.  


Subaru’s heart does not race. It is still. It is quiet. He does not cry out. He simply does not accept this fate.  


He must protect this world so that he can go on remembering Hokuto and Seishirou . . . and now, Kamui. So that they will live on. Where once he was hollow, empty of anything but despair, now he is filled with determination and hope. His fear, his guilt—there is no room left in him for such things.  


He scoops up Kamui and leaps away from Fuuma’s final blow. But Kamui is so badly wounded, it hardly matters. He watches the boy spit up blood and tries his best not to wince.  


_This is Kamui's wish. All of it, the fate of everything, hangs on the hook of one boy’s wish._  


Kamui tears away from Subaru, drags himself up and limps along until he stands before Fuuma. Subaru sees the calm and resolute expression on Kamui's face as Fuuma delivers the mortal stroke, watches the young man place his hand over Fuuma’s heart and explain how, in death, he has triumphed over Fuuma, because he will now _become_ Fuuma.  


It doesn't quite sink in all at once. That what Kamui said is true. That enough of Kamui survives inside of Fuuma to save the world. To this day, Subaru still isn't exactly sure that he's not trapped in some dreaming afterlife, and that physical world is truly gone.  


In the end . . . both futures came to pass. The world, as they knew it, did end. But it also went on. It always and ever goes on . . .  


Subaru sees things now with Seishirou’s eyes. He has become the _Sakurazukamori_ , although he has yet to assassinate anyone. In killing Seishirou, he has _become_ Seishirou. Undoubtedly, this was his beloved’s final victory.  


His black coat flaps in the breeze; he wears sunglasses to combat the bright sunshine. Spring has arrived. The flowers are in full bloom. The sky is a deep, deep blue. The tree is hungry.  


The tree is always hungry.  


The tree will just have to suffer a little longer.  


Subaru follows Fuuma to that place in the park where Kotori and Kamui once played. The younger man stands under an oak tree and lets a little bird rest on his finger. His face is soft, gentle. The desire to protect, to appreciate, to atone, radiates off him in waves.  


Subaru can vaguely remember feeling like that.  


_This innocent one would be a good first kill. His pure soul would feed the tree for weeks,_ part of him thinks.  


Another part of him thinks, _That would be an unforgivable sin! There’s no law that says you cannot love this one as well!_  


_Quiet, the both of you_ , he tells his dear ones.  


He walks over to Fuuma and smiles warmly. Fuuma smiles back.  


Pain is like water. Without it, one cannot live.  


  



End file.
